


Zombie Aftermath

by cathouse_mary



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Dorks, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Getting Together, Grim Reapers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/pseuds/cathouse_mary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the prequel to "A Little Too Much" in which Eric and Alan get utterly blasted on sweet and fruity rum drinks in celebrating Alan's passing his probationary period and becoming a full Reaper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zombie Aftermath

This story takes place before Alan wakes up in Eric's bed, blisteringly hungover and very well-laid. I posted two parts of this previously, but this is the whole thing, start to finish.

For FoP - who had a request. :)

~

**Zombie Aftermath**

Leaving the Scythe and Raven, Alan's drunker than he's ever been, singing arm-in-arm with Eric as they stumble down to the riverside walk. Zombie. The candy-flavoured rum drink was a Zombie. Senior Sutcliff was giggling on the floor after that one. Someone's giggling now, and Alan is chagrined to find that the giggler is himself. He's a full Reaper with his own glasses and a scythe and a black suit, and he oughtn't to giggle. Reapers are serious. Except for Senior Sutcliff who is a thoroughgoing scandal and Senior Slingby… Eric… who is a 'walking bacchanal' according to Dispatch Manager Spears.

The night air is bracing, and Alan desperately hopes to sober up. It's hard to keep up with two seasoned drinkers like his seniors, both of whom glug the stuff like an afternoon cuppa. And he wants to remember this whole day, like when Eric called him 'Reaper Humphries' and Senior Sutcliff presented him with his (her?) very own repousse skull watch. He's officially part of the London Dispatch.

Whose former senior and now-partner is having to help him down the stairs.

"Left down. Right down." Eric's breath is warm and sweet with rum, pipe tobacco, and fruit. "Come on, laddie. You've done this before."

"Sh! I can walk." Alan fusses, because having Eric's arm around him is having the same effect that Eric's proximity always does, which makes Alan glad for his buttoned coat. "I've been doing it for years!"

He's been wanking to thoughts of Eric since he was an Upperclassman at the academy, watching the actual Reaper assigned to teaching Advanced Technique and wondering how to get to the WC to allay the problem. The problem is not in being attracted to his own gender, Alan is not one of those who adopts mortal mores, the problem was then that Eric was an exemplary Reaper. Which meant, unfortunately, no tupping the students. Though certainly Reaper Slingby was up for tupping anyone at the academy who wasn't a student - and did. And then some fickle deity fingered Alan with that same man as his own Senior, his mentoring agent. Eric, despite being a libertine, was still a Reaper of considerable reputation. Alan benefited from his experience and acumen, and was terribly grateful that Eric did not think him an utter pillock. Indeed, Senior Sutcliff and Senior Slingby could reap circles around anyone in the dispatch - their lack of orthodoxy in no way impairing their skills.

Or impairing Alan's disconcertingly frequent wanking problem, for that matter.

And both seniors persist in trying to set him up with "nice lads" around the dispatch offices. It's a little embarrassing. Not that Spectacles fellows aren't lively, mind. It's just that none of them are cocky, burly, gruff, pushy, foul-mouthed, whisky-swilling libertines with the sex drives of prize rams, and their own private libraries.

And an arse fit to bounce a guinea off.

There's that.

Alan can only imagine Eric's-

"Mind on the task, Alan." Eric scolds, sounding no little amused. "What have I been telling you? Whatever you're doing, keep you mind in the same place and accomplish what you set-"

On task. Goal in mind. Same bloody thing for three bloody years.

So Alan kisses him. Takes him by the tie. Gives him a shake. Then reels Eric in by the tie and kisses him again.

For once Eric Slingby is absolutely silent. It may be from flat-footed shock, but it's cheering to know that there are things for which the fastest mouth in the division is unprepared. Alan thinks that he's too drunk to remember this tomorrow, and that might be a good thing, because Eric-

Eric is kissing him back. Kissing him sweetly, then with increasing hunger. Alan thinks faintly, and possibly gleefully, that he has a tiger by the tail.

~

Well, this changes things a bit.

It's not that Eric isn't attracted. Red, when being a catty bitch, often says that Eric's sexual preference is 'Right now!' Not that it's inaccurate. However, this is Alan. Who apparently also earned a Triple-A in Not Letting On and Keeping His Mouth Shut along with Triple-A in every other class, because a kiss like this one is a kiss that is very serious about getting naked and going horizontal. Eric just had no idea that Alan felt that way about him in particular.

No clue.

Had he missed anything else from the time he met Mister Wee Hothead Triple-A?

Well, yes. Evidently.

Because laying one like this on your senior is pretty unmistakable and Eric never saw it coming.

Guess setting Alan up with those nice lads from Spectacles didn't work because Alan doesn't like himself a nice lad. He likes himself a bad lad - or as he calls Eric - a libertine.

When did he start kissing Alan back? A little late to be asking that question, what with his fingers in Alan's hair, pulling him in with a sound of absolute hunger as his blood heats. It's far too late when he's tasting the sweetness of the Zombie drink still on Alan's tongue. He's feeling more than hearing Alan's own urgent moans and he needs to… wants to… wants to not shoot in his own damn uniform like he's still an academy kiddie. Alan's drunk. He's drunk. And while Eric is sure of his entirely unvoiced desire for his former junior, Alan is rum cocktails to his  eyeballs and a hothead besides. Hasty. Volatile. Downright stroppy sometimes. He breaks the kiss, slightly dazed at Alan's passion and the strength of his own response to it.

"Are you sure? Be very sure." Eric is sure that it's hard to breathe. He's been so careful to not influence the young Reaper he's been mentoring in any way other than to train him up as an exemplary Reaper.  "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Alan  just looks at him with bright eyes, and not letting go of Eric's tie, deftly unbuttons Eric's trousers and sticks a hand into the placket.

Well, then. All bets off.

"Alan…" And that gets him kissed again and Alan's very pleased with what he's finding in Eric's trousers, and Eric's more than happy with Alan finding it. Oh. Eric can't keep back a gasp of delight, his back trying to arch. Oh, clever lad. Good hands. "Hasty-"

"Three years," is Alan's enigmatic reply.

So, Alan has possibly been wanting to put a hand in Eric's trousers for three years.

"Be sure, Alan." There's a foreskin thing going on. Oh, very nice. "Be very sure."

"If I were any more sure-"

Eric catches Alan's mouth open, kissing him and sliding his hands inside Alan's coat. There are two who can play at surprises here. Oh, it's good. Alan's taken hold of his lapels and the kiss is like catching fire. If there was ever any doubt where the kiss was intended to go, it wisps out of existence the second Eric pulls Alan against him. He wants to get Alan home, get both of them naked, and - and he gets a hand in Alan's pants. Fair's fair and very, very nice. Alan's got a nice one. And Alan momentarily loses it, fucking the curled fingers of Eric's hand with a lewd moan. They need a bed, though Alan's pretty much fine with the sidewalk at this point, or the bridge abutment, or the green-way. From there, it's a short walk to Eric's block of flats, albeit a walk that threatens to leave the pair of them having it off up against a wall. Eric, by no means lacking experience with men or women, cannot remember being this afire over anyone. Certainly not being pinned to his own front door, Alan's arse (firm, squeezable) in a two handed grip as Alan tries with colourful profanity, alcohol-impaired eyesight, and Eric's keys to open the door.

The door gives way and Eric lands on the floor, not having let go of Alan's arse, with Alan sprawled atop him and keys skittering into the darkened flat. He kicks the door shut as Alan sends Eric's necktie flying and attacks the buttons on his shirt. Fine, because Alan's trousers are coming off right now, and the wee mad thing very much enjoys Eric playing with his arse, expressing his delight with nips at Eric's neck and scooting-

Eric's head hits the floor, back arching. "Oh, oh fuck yesss-" Alan likes to suck and is good at it, peeling Eric's trousers down, and Eric shucks off his shoes so as not to impede Alan's determined assault.

"Eric. You have no underthings on." Alan is blinking, because Eric is left in socks, braces, an open shirt and frock coat.

"Tsk. Alan, wearing such will get you a case of the damps." Trousers are bad enough. Baws wan oot. "Naught wrong with a fresh breeze."

"You are a scandal." Of course, Alan is saying this with his own trousers off, waistcoat and shirt hanging open, and Eric's prick in a solid grip. "Underthings are a part of the uniform!"

"But do you really want Spears checking your drawers of a morning?" Now that's an interesting reaction. Alan has a few pushy-buttons to play with! "Or maybe-"

Alan's derailed the train of thought by removing and then launching his drawers into the darkened flat. Very nice. Very fit indeed. Shucking his coat and shirt leaves Eric bare but for socks and braces, and Alan was easily peelable in much the same state. But for an ironed, buttoned, linen undershirt.

Ironed? Buttoned? Really?

There's a patter of little while buttons on the wooden floor as Alan removes the undershirt by simply tearing it from his body, then Alan… pounces. There may be something ridiculous in two grown men in socks and braces grappling on the floor, but if there is Eric doesn't care. Alan has places that, when Eric kisses them, cause noises from Alan. Even better, they make Alan writhe and clutch Eric closer.

"Eric-" Alan nips hard at Eric's shoulder and pulls him down for a kiss that probably leaves scorch marks on Eric's brain.

"Bitey, stroppy, hasty." They're going to have it off on the floor, friction burns and all. Alan's burning up against him, kisses candy-sweet with the edge of sharp teeth that Reapers only manifest in fight, flight, or fuck situations. "Wanted you-"

Alan finds a spot on Eric's neck that gives him such a burning jolt of pleasure that it robs him of speech. That's twice in one night. "Sogood-"

He can't feel enough of Alan against him, and the bold lad is making free enough with him that Eric follows suit, both of them rolling across the floor of the flat as they grope, kiss, frot each other as if it's the last night of the realms. Alan seems fascinated with Eric's arse, giving it a squeeze and smack that makes Eric growl and buck.

"Bed. Need a bed for what I want to do with you." Alan has a grip on Eric's left buttock, fingers brushing in a way that makes Eric grin. "As soon as I figure out what that is-"

"Don't tell me that Mr. Triple-A hasn't done the homework." Alan would be a top lad. Which works out nicely because Eric almost never gets to be on the getting end of things unless Red is rammish.

Alan's kiss puts him back on the floor. How much had Alan been wanting him if he's this ardent?

"Give or get?" Alan rasps and if either of them last more than five minutes it's going to be a miracle from the First himself. The simple idea of fucking or being fucked by Alan makes Eric's blood surge.

"Yes." Is Eric's answer and Alan laughs, the kiss that follows surprisingly tender.

"If you knew how long I'd wanted to- to be this way with you-"

"You don't want one of those nice lads from Spectacles?" Eric couldn't let that go without a tease, but follows it with a tender kiss of his own.

The little hothead pins him again. "I want a happy-cocked, hyperliterate, libidinous librarian, who despite being a whisky-soaked man-tart is nonetheless an exemplary Rea-"

Oh, the sweetheart. Eric pulls the talky one down and gives him another kiss that has Alan moaning, toes curling.

~

How they manage to get to the bed is lost in a fog of rum, kisses, and Eric's bare skin against his. Alan could not remember needing... no.... he can't remember desire as overwhelming as this. Certainly he is as lusty as any man his age, but this is… breathtaking. His cheeks burn hot, and he hasn't ever kissed another man like this, as if Eric is everything his body and soul have ever yearned to touch.

And the heat of being inside of him is like floating. As if he's not even touching the mattress.

Hm. Actually he isn't. Eric has elevating arse and Alan is wrapped around him. "Eric. Arse DOWN."

"Can't help it. Bloody hell…"

Eric bounces his hips and the friction, simple friction and a squeeze, makes fireworks go off in Alan's brain. "Ericyesss."

"Want you f-fuck you're so damn good inside me oh yeah like that ah Alan-"

It's sweat, scythe oil, the feeling of slickness, heat, friction around his prick. It's pleasure. Lust. But it's something more, too. It's Eric and everything he is to Alan. It's Eric and everything he's come to know about his Senior as a Reaper and as a man those in three years. It's Eric. And at the moment, the heat of the moment, he doesn't give a damn how it might look. Eric wants him this way, hips moving more quickly, the slick sounds of flesh to flesh, their moans louder and he gets a hand free, around and under and Eric's prick is in his hand.

"Eric. E-eric!"

Alan almost feels his skin can't contain his soul, as if the pleasure and need has brought his record to just below the thin skin just over his breastbone. The little death comes. This consuming pleasure that closes the eyes, stutters the heart, stops the breath. Eric's name is his terminal cry, and under him and around him Eric's little death claims him, too.

Then they are panting, flushed, sweaty, and sticky. It's a good feeling that goes to the bone. This feels better than anything as Eric kisses him. Alan doesn't want to ease himself from Eric's body, strong and warm under him, the skin flushed and Eric's fingers twined with his. They are creatures of death, but Alan has never felt so brightly and vividly that he is ALIVE.

"I want to remember this. I'm not going to forget this." No matter how drunk he is, Alan wants to burn this into his memory, carry it next to his heart.

"You will, Alan." Eric rumbles softly. "You're blasted on rum, sweetheart."

Warmer and sweeter than any rum drink is the warmth that blooms in his heart and on his cheeks. "Call me that again."

"Sweetheart."

>

"I'm going to remember that, Eric." Sweetheart. Silly. Stupid. Ephemeral. Wonderful. Cherished. Loved. "I am not that drunk and if I am, you have to remember that for me."

"Remember it for you?"

Things are a little foggy. Alan finds he has a good pillow in Eric's shoulder, eyelids slipping shut under the influence of rum and orgasm. "You have to."

Well. Hello. That's a fine way to wake up.

Alan doesn't open his eyes, but he doesn't need sight to know he's naked, in someone else's bed with the someone who is also naked. And very impressively erect. Alan knows this as the erection is pressing against his backside, as he lies spooned with-

Wait.

Did he just-

With Eric?

Just how drunk was he?

And to which fairy godmother does he send the 'Thank You' note?

Is there a protocol for this?

Slowly, carefully, Alan moves his arse back and Eric grunts in his sleep. breath puffing softly on the back of Alan's neck. All right, Alan can admit it in his own head; when he's on the bottom, he likes something just like that. Something thick and round-headed that's not so much long as it is… substantial.

Wait.

Alan does a quick assessment.

He's come, yes, but his arse feels unbuggered.

The thank you note to the fairy godmother needs to specify that he gets to keep the memories! If he'd mounted his senior… which must have looked a little like a whippet having a go at a wolfhound… he wanted to remember that! And although they've had a go in whatever configuration, it seems they're both game for another. Eric's waking, stroking Alan's thigh, pressing against him and murmuring in his ear.

"Again? Randy little sweetheart."

Alan turns his head and gets a lovely kiss while he plucks up Eric's hand and puts it on his own prick in answer. Oh, Eric has a grip. And is doing something delicious with his foreskin.

Wait.

"Sweetheart. I like that. Say it again," Alan demands, giving a grind that makes Eric's breath hitch.

"Sweetheart." The 'r' is nearly growled and it makes Alan's blood surge to his prick.

"Want a fucking, Eric." He's groping after the scythe oil - every Reaper lad's friend from the academy. "Need you."

"Oh, and you call me a libertine…" Eric gropes after something, finds his glasses and looks for the oil. "Is the oil on your side?"

"Just a moment. Where did I put my glasses?" He finds them under the pillow and makes a mental note to put them someplace safer before he falls asleep again. "Here it is."

Alan finds himself on his back a very short minute later, Eric's slicked-up fingers doing brilliant, brilliant things to his arse. Keeping his glasses on is the only way for him to see what's going on, and Alan fills his eyes with Eric. Yes, they've been naked in front of each other before in the showers and everything but-

Eric curves his fingers, pressing gently as Alan arches and gasps. Bliss.

"There? This way?" Eric bends, presses a kiss to Alan's stomach, his prick, and Alan can feel himself opening up. Everything is loose, and tense and he wants so badly that he aches.

"Like that, just like that." Reaching out, he strokes his fingers through Eric's hair, fingers tracing the braids over the left ear. "Have me like this. Face up. I want to see you."

This time the kiss is for Alan's mouth, hungry and tender, and Alan embraces him. Eric feels this way for him and that scares him, because above all things Alan never thought that his regard would be reciprocated. Alan raises his knees and Eric raises up - a hand on the back of Alan's thigh, the other hand guiding his prick, pressing against Alan's arsehole.

"Like that-"

"Slowly."

"More."

"Stroppy."

There's a stretch, and then give. Alan breathes out and Eric enters him to the root. Then they're still. Panting as if they've run from London to Aberdeen, but still. The fullness is ecstasy, and he reaches up to put a hand over Eric's heart, feeling it drumming just under the breastbone.

"Your heart… Eric… it's beating so fast for me." Eric takes his hand, turning it palm up and pressing kisses into the palm, against the wrist as his hips move. "Yes oh yes like that!"

Face up, able to see him, Alan watches the play of emotions and sensations, Eric's passion fueling his own. Alan has never felt a lover's name in his mouth this way, heard anyone say his name the way Eric cries it out as he bends to give Alan both his cock and his kisses. And they're loud, and couldn't give a rip, the bed rocking with them and bliss this is bliss and Eric gives this to him.

"Harder. More." Alan wants more than to be fucked, he wants to be broken open, emptied of everything - of come, of solitude, of fear. "Love-"

The word burns his lips as it leaves them, and Eric catches it, swallows it. "Alan, yes." And then he gives, giving Alan what he asked for until he's empty of everything but bliss and need. The bed's a wreck, the pillows gone and

"N-now Eric Eric now with me come with me come-!"

He's going to now and Eric is fucking him faster harder sweeter and it's their names cried together and Alan barely manages to pull Eric down to him before release rings through him like a struck bell. Eric shudders in his arms, then his hips jerk hard before moans Alan's name. Alan can feel the pulse of Eric's climax, still riding the wave of his own. Then a kiss, so tender it does what fucking could not; Alan wanted to be broken, emptied out, and now he is. However, there's something else there now, and the feeling is at once strange and familiar. There's another soul next to his heart, another heart beating with his. Eric whispers love to him, kisses him, promises him that he will remember this for Alan - and no, lad, no more rum for you.

When the darkness comes for him, Alan is in Eric's arms, and all is as his heart knows it was meant to be. The hangover, however, might be really epic.


End file.
